


So Share My Glory, So Share My Coffin

by Azar443



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Injury, hints of grotesque bodily harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 07:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar443/pseuds/Azar443
Summary: For though ghosts are mere fragments of a person’s past, Percival is an angry and vengeful ghost.





	So Share My Glory, So Share My Coffin

**Author's Note:**

> There are mentions of, and hints of grotesque bodily injury. If you’re uncomfortable reading such things, please clik away.This is sort of inspired by Chinese beliefs that people who die a violent death tend to come back as ghosts, often angry. Contains canon character death (only if you believe Percival is dead in the FB universe, but I don’t, so there’s that) and implied character death.

It begins with whispers tailing them when they’re alone; taking a bath, getting ready for bed, filing the latest evidence in the Evidence Locker. They think nothing of it at first, at how the serpentine voice sounds vaguely familiar, or how the words, smoky and seductive, slither and wrap themselves around their minds. They write it off due to exhaustion; after all, the mind often plays tricks on the weary. If they concentrate hard enough, the whispers stop, and they can continue doing whatever it is they have been doing in peace. Soon, the whispers don’t stop.

The new Director of Magical Security, a tall, lean man who resembles a wolf, notices that his people are coming into work with dark circles around their eyes, and that it seems the life is slowly being sucked out of them. He asks around, of course, but the only answers he gets are quiet mumbles that make no sense. He makes a note to inform Madame Picquery, and wonders if they’re being haunted by _something_ , when Goldstein suddenly flinches and Jacobs shatters yet another mug on the floor. He doesn’t know it, but he’s not wrong. Picquery is no help however, when, with shaky hands and a pale face, she explains that she too is plagued by whatever it is that haunts the senior Aurors.

The Aurors talk during break, in hushed murmurs and nervously darting eyes, as if frightened at being overheard. The seasoned veterans speak of the whispers, which are getting fiercer and more poisonous as the days pass. The newbies however, have no idea what their more experienced colleagues are talking about, until someone points out, isn’t is strange that everyone who’s heard the whispers used to work under Mr Graves? There’s a dead silence that stretches for far too long, and someone shivers, because it feels like there are cold fingers running up and down their spine. The religious mutter a quick prayer, and those who aren’t fall back onto their Auror training and fortify their mental blocks. There’s only a silvery chuckle in answer.

The whispers only gain in intensity, and the Director helpless as he watches his people, all of them good, decline into something resembling mad desperation. No one knows what to do, and they’ve tried purifying their homes and the offices, both through magical and religious means but nothing works. If anything, all their efforts at banishing the spectre makes it angrier, and the afflicted Aurors feel its rage that night, when the whispers escalate into howls that leave their ears ringing and their throats raw and bloody from screaming, trying to stop the anger. They turn up to work the next day lifeless and terrified. The Director sends them home, because he won’t lose more good people like they did his predecessor.

It’s difficult to describe what the whispers say, only because the Aurors can’t make out anything specific. That’s not to say they don’t know what the whispers are about. They can tell you that Mr Graves -because of _course_ it’s Mr Graves; no one couldn’t _not_ recognise the smoky timbre of his voice, never raised even in anger-, is undeniably angry. His voice is bitter and biting and cruel; everything Mr Graves was not in life. They know he’s angry because none of them noticed he was replaced, that despite the kindness he’s shown them throughout, or all the countless times he’s saved their asses, they were _oblivious_. And _oh_ , how he reminds them of their failures every single day. He bombards their minds with images of when he was in captivity, of the broken limbs, the torn and bloody wounds, the shattered mind Grindelwald left him with, and finally, sweet, sweet death. Queenie, trying to alleviate some of the mental agony Tina is going through, weeps when she reads her sister’s mind, because even in death, Grindelwald doesn’t allow him the dignity of a decent burial.

The Aurors storm Nurmengard, and Mr Graves howls in despair, and so do they. For chained to the walls of Grindelwald’s stony prison, is Percival Graves, who is dead _dead dead_ and unrecognizable. Crows and vultures with full bellies squawk in protest as they circle the Aurors, irritated that their feeding has been interrupted. The howls cease for a moment when they slowly, reverently lower what remains of Percival Graves into a body bag. They think that perhaps, now that they’ve properly buried Mr Graves, that he’ll pass on peacefully and not haunt them anymore. Alas, for though ghosts are mere fragments of a person’s past, Percival is an angry and vengeful ghost, and the anger that is carried forward into the afterlife is a powerful fuel that denies him eternal peace. The Aurors as well, are denied peace.

The whispers cease for a few blissful days, and everyone is relieved because maybe, just _maybe_ , Percival has moved on. The new Director reports this to Seraphina, who downs a glass of brandy out of relief because _finally_ , her head won’t pound and her nights won’t be filled with nightmares, and those ghostly whispers won’t ring through her ears day and night. The day ends on a high, with productivity being the highest it’s ever been in weeks. The senior Aurors especially, leave the office with a smile and snuggle into their beds, looking forward to a restful sleep.

They don’t wake up the next day.


End file.
